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Another train journey to work, half an hour in a hot sweaty carriage, everyone trying their best not to end up in conversation with the other passengers. Yet always the same faces. For five years I have wondered why I do this every day. I glance around the carriage, people reading the newspaper, most with headphones on, some looking blankly out the window as the train speeds into the city. Each one of us becoming one of the millions of ants racing through the warrens of the city. Nameless throngs of people.
The one saving grace, sitting directly opposite me, she’s wearing a dark business suit, the skirt is pencil tight, the split shows just enough leg, her nylon clad legs, and high heeled shoes. The jacket covering a crisp white blouse, her white lace bra just peeking from the V neck, showing a cleavage that suggests firm medium sized breasts. Her hair, as always, tied up, giving her a slightly stern look. Her makeup is perfect, not too much foundation, just enough, her eyes highlighted, and her lips coated in a light red colour. Today, she is sitting directly opposite me, as she crosses her legs, very femininely, I see a glimpse of stocking tops, and a clip from a garter belt.
She has a tablet, and spends the whole journey reading something, her attention on the computer screen means, she won’t see me staring. The carriage vibrating beneath us, my vivid imagination and this vision of beauty before me, as has happened many times, begins an arousal inside me. An arousal that I knew would stay with me for the whole day. A want that could never be fulfilled. A fantasy that I would use as soon as I got home.
She shifts on her seat, her knee rises slightly and the meeting of her thigh and her stocking comes into view. Does she know I’m watching her, is she showing her legs off on purpose? All day my thoughts are on her, I can barely work, if only I could find somewhere private to relieve my frustration. I think of the bathroom in the office building, too many people, someone would hear me, even being away from my desk for that long would look suspicious. There was a staff meeting at lunch time, so that would be out of the question too, I’d just have to wait till I got home.
Sitting on the train home was the longest thirty minutes of my life. My mind was telling my body that relief was to come soon, my arousal building, waiting for the release my body so needed. Would the apartment be empty when I got in?
I open the apartment door, hanging my coat up. The apartment is silent, I make my way to the bedroom, pulling the sheets back, and slip off my shoes.
Why do I have these fantasies about her, she’s not my type, I’m married, my husband is a good man, our sex life is quite good. I’ve never been with a woman, yet she is my one fantasy.
As I lay back on the bed, I picture her, her shapely legs, her nylon stockings, her breasts encased in her lace bra, her suit, in my imagination she unbuttons her blouse, her nipples standing hard in her white lace bra. I pull my skirt up, my hand touches my crotch, my pantyhose feel damp to my touch, my panties have slipped inside my wet pussy.
I rub my finger along the line of my labia, they feel open and welcoming to my touch. She unclips her bra, her nipples are dark and hard, if only I could close my lips over them, taste her skin, feel her arousal between my teeth, as I nibble and suck her nipples. Her breasts would feel soft in my hand.
I pull my pantyhose down, tearing them with my long finger nails, I didn’t care, I needed to get inside my panties. The satin material covering my waiting pussy is quickly pulled down my legs. The scent of my lubrication fills my nostrils, as my finger finds the damp opening. I slide my finger in, spreading my legs.
She unbuttons her skirt, as it falls to the floor revealing a white lace thong and a garter belt holding up her sheer stockings. She seductively slips her thumbs into the waist band of her panties, then slides one hand down to her crotch.
My finger slips easily into my love hole, a place only my hand of my husband have ever been. I feel the warm dampness, the heat of my yearning. My finger slides in slowly, my thumb resting on my clitoris as it hardens and appears from its little cover. My hand is soaking from the juices leaking form with in me. I pull my finger upwards and find the rough area behind my pubic mound.
She slips her panties off, her pubic hair is trimmed to virtually nothing, her pussy looks wet and inviting.
I rub my g spot, my legs instinctively clamp together. My toes begin to curl, pulses, like an electric current flow through my body. My other hand reaches inside my blouse, freeing my breast, and pinching my nipple between thumb and forefinger. My orgasm flows through me, as it pulses through my nervous system, the long awaited relief my body craved is found. She disappears from my thoughts, my mind concentrating on the pleasure flowing through my body.
I hear the door opening, my husband is home, I climb out of the bed, pulling my panties up and fixing my pantyhose. I push my breast back into my bra and fix my shirt. A quick look in the mirror, to check my makeup and as I step back into my shoes, he walks in. I knew he would benefit from my recent masturbation, but when he asks was I home long, I replied, just before you.
A couple of weeks later my doctor advises me to get a full check up at a clinic in the city. He’s a lovely man, but sometimes I think he gets a little embarrassed when faced with women’s issues. The check up was just a standard annual visit before getting my pill prescription renewed.
I boarded the train, I would finish work early, and hopefully get home as normal. I looked around the carriage, she was sitting a couple of seats down. Her legs crossed, engrossed in her reading. I could see she was wearing stockings as usual, the thoughts of her causing my normal arousals.
I finished work and grabbed a taxi to the clinic. The receptionist showed me to a consultation room, she gave me a gown and pointed to a side area where I could get undressed. I slipped my clothes off, and wrapped the gown around me. It barely fitted, I tied the string as best as I could, and sat on the edge of the couch. My legs crossed tightly, anyone walking in might see my nakedness under the gown, and a feeling of shyness and embarrassment had overcome me.
The door to the surgery opened, a woman’s voice greeted me, “You must be Wendy, I’m Doctor Slinzky, but you can call me Karoline”. I heard the door to the surgery lock.
As I turned my eyes nearly popped from my head, standing before me was the woman from the train, her crisp business suit covered by a white doctor’s coat. A stethoscope hung over her neck, and a clip board in her hand. Her hand came out and she shook mine. She then raised my feet onto the couch, and asked me to remove the gown.
She helped me pull the gown off my shoulders, I could feel my nipples harden as the cool air brushed them. Her hand came up and she cupped my breast, feeling for any problems, as she jotted on her clipboard, her hand seemed to rest on my breast, her thumb casually lying against my nipple.
My imagination must have been running wild, was she just doing her job, or was my fantasy about to come through.
Karol leaned over me, her floral perfume filling the air, her ear and neck just inches away, her hands worked down my stomach, I could feel a dampness between my legs. She gently parted my legs. Her hands touching my thighs. As my vagina appeared, she made a slight sound, an agreeable sound. She wrote something on her clip board.
Her hand touched my pubic mound, “I hope my hands aren’t cold?” she asked. I was unable to answer. Her hand traced the outer edges of my pussy, I could feel the wetness on my legs. She used two fingers to part my outer labia. Bending over me I could feel her breath on my thighs, as she held my labia open, her finger slid inside, her manicured but short nails disappearing inside me. She parted my inner labia, my scents filling the room, her finger finding the opening to my vagina. She pressed her finger inside.
My body tensed, my feet tingling as her finger pushed inside me. My thigh muscles tried to press closed, to pull the intrusion deeper inside me, to hold her hand where my body wanted. Her arms were strong, she kept my legs from closing, her hand still exploring inside me. I began to shudder, a moan escaping from my mouth, as an orgasm pulsed through my body. An orgasm that I had fantasized about since I was a young girl, and orgasm that I had never had the chance to experience. An orgasm given to me by another woman, my fantasy had come true. Yet, was she only doing her job, as her hand controlled the convulsions deep inside me.
She pulled her finger out, my muscles still spasming, a flow of my juices pouring on to the couch. She reached over and taking a towel she wiped her hand, then wiped the couch beneath my legs.
Karol smiled at me, “Don’t be embarrassed, that happens regularly, it proves everything is working well”
She helped me to my feet. I felt weak, she put her arm around me to steady me. I got my balance back as my orgasm fully subsided. She guided me to the changing area. As I dressed she chatted, about my work, where I was from, etc.
I walked back into the surgery area, buttoning my shirt. She was sitting on the swivel chair, her legs crossed, as I had seen her sit many times on the train. She smiled as she handed me my prescription, then walked me to the door, as if nothing had happened.
The following day, as I sat on the train, Karol was there sitting opposite me, reading her device, paying no attention to me or anyone else. Her legs crossed, her stockings just visible, her suit hair and makeup all perfect. As the train pulled into the station, we all got up to get off, she stood beside me. “Oh hi Wendy, we should arrange to meet up again sometime, but maybe out of office hours”.